


to cross the stars

by rainbowgraffiti



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Flirty Lance, Happy Ending, Heists, Keith and Shiro are cops, Light Angst, M/M, Pidge and Hunk work with Lance, Rivalry, Romance, Shakespeare References, Stealing, Thief Lance (Voltron), Thief/Vigilante AU, Vigilante Keith (Voltron), klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 17:09:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17047205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowgraffiti/pseuds/rainbowgraffiti
Summary: "Guys, I think there's someone else here," he hisses."Good observation," says a familiar voice behind him.He jumps, before a small smile lifts the corners of his mouth. "Paladin," he says as he turns around to meet the hero of Altea City.His jet black hair tumbles in neat waves, sweeping in front of his bright violet eyes. A scarlet cape falls from his shoulders--and that's new, Lance notes with a sense of fondness. This is the person he's been playing cat-and-mouse with for almost as long as he's been a jewel thief. His sworn enemy, his rival--except, it’s a little more complicated than that.





	to cross the stars

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this fic way back in april for the OTPlease Fanzine, my first ever zine fic! i got the okay to post it so i thought i'd share it with you guys. enjoy!

It starts here, under the cover of darkness.

The night is raw and silent and speckled with stars, and the city is asleep but Lance is so, so awake. He's always done his best work under the gaze of the silver moon, and tonight it feels like the whole sky is holding its breath to watch.

"The silent alarm's disabled. You're good to go, Lance," comes the voice over his comm set, and he groans in reply.

"I told you, it's Starcatcher," he complains as his hands make quick work of the lock on the skylight.

He hears her chair roll over the floor and pictures her rolling her eyes while a fond smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "And I told _you,_ I'm not calling you that. Just because the newspapers want to give you a stupid nickname doesn't mean I have to use it," Pidge Holt, his resident hacker, teases.

Lance lifts the panel of glass out of the way, securing the clip of his tether to his belt loop as Hunk's voice cuts in over the comm. "I kinda like it, actually. It's mysterious, in an awesome sort of way."

"Thank you, Hunk," Lance says with a satisfied smirk, and Pidge huffs a laugh. "Oh, you're just jealous because _you_ don't have a cool alias."

"I'm perfectly happy letting you do all the dirty work from the comforts of my screen. Speaking of, get going, I can only keep the cameras on a loop for so long."

"I'm going, I'm going," he grumbles, tightening his grip on the black tether and slowly, steadily lowering himself into the room below him.

Moonlight spills into the corners of the room, glittering off the edges of the jewels that sit in their cages of glass. It produces a strange effect, the silver light catching on the different colors, and he feels a sort of shiver run up his spine at the magic these walls seems to hold.

His eyes sweep around and land on the target in question. The emerald sits in the center of the room, a beautiful, brightly colored thing about the size of his fist, cut without imperfections or impurities. They call it the Bast's Eye, for its forest color and its gleam. He allows himself a moment to appreciate its glory.

And then he goes for it.

It's not an easy task, but over a year of practice has made him good at what he does. He gets through it steadily, soundlessly, working his way around the glass and the locks and to the prize inside. His fingers close around the gem, and he slips it into the hidden pocket along his waist.

"Got it," he breathes into the comm.

"Sweet," Hunk says triumphantly. "Alright, now get out of there."

Lance grins. "Yeah, I'm coming. Just let me leave them a parting gift," he says as he slides a slip of blue paper out of his pocket, in the shape of a star. His calling card. He leaves it in place of the jewel, leaves everything else just the way it was. Perfect.

And then he hears something.

"Guys, I think there's someone else here," he hisses.

"Good observation," says a familiar voice behind him.

He jumps, before a small smile lifts the corners of his mouth. "Paladin," he says as he turns around to meet the hero of Altea City.

His jet black hair tumbles in neat waves, sweeping in front of his bright violet eyes. A scarlet cape falls from his shoulders--and that's new, Lance notes with a sense of fondness. This is the person he's been playing cat-and-mouse with for almost as long as he's been a jewel thief. His sworn enemy, his rival--except, it’s a little more complicated than that.

"I like the cape," he grins. "It suits you."

The Paladin shakes his head, his gaze flitting briefly to the ceiling. "No time for your games, Starcatcher. I have an early shift tomorrow."

His smirk only widens, undeterred, eyes glittering playfully behind a silver mask. "You know what they say. 'Seek happy nights to happy days'."

Then a laugh slips past the hero's lips, soft and easy, and Lance feels a little swell of triumph in his chest. "I don't think I'll find my happiest nights chasing after you, _thief,_ " he taunts.

"Fine," Lance huffs, feigning hurt and subtly moving backwards. "Guess I'll have to just go, then."

The Paladin holds out an open palm. "Gem first," he demands, suddenly all business.

"Alright, alright," he sighs in reply, and reaches into the small pocket to bring out a round object. The hero raises an eyebrow, and Lance lets the sphere roll out of his hand and hit the ground. "Whoops," he grins as there's a bang and a flash, and the room clouds with dark grey smoke.

By the time the it clears enough to see the Paladin, Lance has one hand on the tether and is halfway out of the skylight.

"I can't believe you fell for that," he calls down, laughing.

"Who says I did?"

Some unfamiliar feeling rushes through him quickly then, and his smile widens. "Until next time, hero!" he teases, and then he's back in the cool night air, underneath the cover of darkness and stars as his heart does unfamiliar flip-flops in his chest.

"The smoke bomb worked great, Hunk," he tells his gadget specialist over the comm set.

"I don't know," Hunk replies, and Lance can practically hear the smirk in his voice, "I think there were enough flames in that room already."

Heat creeps into his cheeks. "Shut up," he says simply as he disappears into the night.

* * *

Keith comes into work that morning running entirely on coffee and a can of Red Bull, dumping his papers unceremoniously on his desk and blowing his bangs out of his face. “I have a lead,” he announces.

Shiro’s gaze lifts up from the file he’s holding in his hands as he approaches Keith’s desk, captain’s badge glittering, as always, on his chest. He lifts an eyebrow and tilts his head slightly, “The Starcatcher case?”

“Yeah,” Keith nods, shuffling through his papers and thrusting one into Shiro’s hands. “See, the night after Starcatcher’s last heist, money was transferred to the Altea City Children’s Home from an anonymous donor,” he begins. “The same way amount of money that the stolen gems were worth. So all we have to do is trace the next transfer and--”

“-we’ve got our guy,” Shiro finishes with a nod. He looks from the papers back to him, brow creasing slightly in the expression Keith has come to familiarize with concern. “Keith, were you working on this all night?”

His mind flits briefly to the previous night, the costume, the museum, the thief’s silver mask and sapphire eyes. “Kinda,” he responds, mumbles, and gives a little jerk of his head. _Technically not a lie._

" _Keith,_ " Shiro sighs, half-concern, half-exasperation. "You're not supposed to be working yourself into the ground. I like my deputies _awake_."

"I'm awake!"

Shiro taps his fingers on the metal of his prosthetic arm and lifts an eyebrow. "Running on adrenaline and caffeine is not awake. You look like death."

Keith huffs indignantly, rolling his eyes. "Thanks."

"Look, I'm serious, okay?" his captain presses, ever patient with him. That will always be something he finds both admiring and frustrating about Shiro, his ability to stay entirely phlegmatic in any situation. "You're one of my best officers," Shiro continues, "but I can't send you out into the field if you're not in your best shape."

A quick feeling of worry shoots through Keith. He feels his eyes widen slightly, and when he speaks his voice is a mixture of anger and fear. "You're not saying you're gonna bench me?"

"I'm saying," Shiro scoops the file off of Keith's desk and slides the papers back into it, tucking it under his arm, "don't let this case turn into an obsession." With a final pointed look and a nod, he turns and leaves.

Keith sinks into his chair, running a hand through his dark bangs and sighing. _Obsession,_ he thinks bitterly, eyes wandering to the scattered photos on his desk, specifically, a fuzzy shot of Starcatcher on a rooftop. _It's not an obsession._ But finding out who Starcatcher is means more to him than he can explain to Shiro. More to him than he can explain, period, really. There's just some part of him that needs to figure it out, solve the mystery of his rival, find out who lies behind the mask, who really owns those sapphire eyes and that smile full of diamonds.

It's not an obsession.

It's just personal.

* * *

There's a few slow, uneventful nights before they meet again, punctuated by the occasional mugger or street fight. But the nighttime patrols pass by slowly for Keith, and so when the silent alarm at Coran's Jewelry Store is tripped, he finds himself feeling almost excited.

Only at the prospect of finally catching this jerk, he reminds himself quickly. Not, of course, at seeing him again.

He crosses town quickly on his hover-bike, pulling up in front of the store just in time to see a dark, masked figure appear on the roof. "Starcatcher," he says as he leaps down, voice not nearly as cool as he'd hoped.

The thief's lip quirks up in a grin. "We have to stop meeting like this," he says softly, almost teasingly, a flirtatious edge to his voice. The moonlight makes his blue eyes dance with silver, sharpens the shadows of his slender face.

Keith feels his blood run hot, draws the grappling hook from his belt and fires it at the edge of the roof. "I can put an end to it now, if you'd like," he raises an eyebrow and pulls himself up.

"You're not gonna bring me in," Starcatcher says when the hero stands in front of him, his voice confident enough to set Keith on edge. "You've had plenty of chances to do that already; I know you could do it if you wanted to."

He's not sure if this is meant as a compliment; the way the jewel thief says it makes it sound almost like a challenge. "You're a criminal," he responds mechanically, although it's almost like he's trying to convince himself of this. But of course he wants to apprehend Starcatcher, it's his job, after all.

"I know you know where the money goes. I steal from the rich and give to the less fortunate, like...Robin Hood," his eyes glitter behind his mask. "Is that really so bad, Kogane?"

Keith opens his mouth to reply, but then his veins seem to fill with ice. "You-how did you-" he stammers.

The thief smirks, and Keith feels his gloved fingers curl into fists. "I've got friends who can work wonders with a computer," he replies lightly. "It was just a theory, but confirmation is key. I know who you are now."

And Keith searches, but there's no threat behind his words. Still, it works its way under his skin, makes him feel suddenly very exposed.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Starcatcher says abruptly, taunting air disappearing, "if that's what you're worried about."

The words to respond still don't come. He feels like a fish, sitting there and gaping, looking for something that isn't there. Because Starcatcher and the Paladin have never been enemies--rivals, playing on opposite sides of the field, maybe, but never _enemies._

But this, this seems to throw everything out of balance very suddenly.

" _Keith,"_ the thief says, careful. Keith wishes he could pretend that the sound of his name on his lips didn't send goosebumps running up his arms. It does. It makes his adrenaline spike and his heartbeat stumble, it makes his whole body buzz with electricity. "It's just an identity. It doesn't have to change anything." He pauses. "Look, I'll level the playing field." Before the hero has the time to say anything, Starcatcher's hands are on his silver mask, and he pulls it away.

"I'm Lance. Lance McClain," he says. Keith's breath catches. He's utterly beautiful in that moment, vulnerable, with his face unhidden and his mask in his hands, his hair lit by the moon's silver glow, his smile soft and subtle along his lips.

Keith plays with his name, exploring the way it feels in his mind, in his voice. Lance. Lance, Lance, Lance Lance Lance. "Lance," he says, soft, and the thief nods, and it's like exhaling for the first time.

"Why did you tell me?" he asks suddenly, abrupt.

Lance lets out a breath. "Because I trust you," he replies, and he makes it sound like it's just that simple. "And I want you to trust me."

"Why?"

There's a soft exhale of laughter from the thief, and his eyes gleam in their familiar way. "I thought that was obvious." It takes Keith a moment to realize that they've moved closer to each other. "I can see it in your eyes. You know why.

"Just say it," Lance continues softly, taking another step forward as his arm finds Keith's waist. Warmth floods his body in a sudden rush, makes his skin tingle. "Say you don't feel this too, and I'll go. I'll go, and you'll never have to see me again."

Keith swallows, his throat like sandpaper. "I...We can't," he forces out. He sounds unconvinced, even to his own ears.

Lance moves forward in a lithe, catlike motion, his gaze a burning challenge. "Why? Because you're a Montague, and I, a Capulet," there's an air of mocking theatricality in his voice, and his lips curve up into a smirk, eyes glittering like sapphires behind his mask in the moonlight, "and the stars were never crossed in our favor?"

The thief's nimble hand creeps up to Keith's chest, pressing him gently against the brick wall behind them. "Let me tell you a secret, Keith," he says, voice low as the clouds of his breath hang suspended in the cold November air.

Later, the hero will deny the shiver that runs up his spine then, deny the way he can hear his own heartbeat loud in his ears and is sure that his rival can feel it through the Kevlar of his suit. He'll deny that he ever felt it—that spark of a flame in the space between them.

Lance leans in, impossibly close, his breath hot in Keith's ear.

"We're writing the end of this story," he whispers softly, and Keith's heart skips a beat, "and I don't believe in fate."

The pressure on his chest disappears, very suddenly, and takes Lance's warmth with it. Cold rushes into him; it's like the air has been stolen from his lungs.

"Wait—" Keith croaks, but his voice is lost to the noise of the night.

He watches the dark silhouette leap nimbly over the chasm between the two buildings. And in a gust of cold, midnight wind, Lance is gone, and Keith is left alone on the rooftop, his heart still racing and his cheek burning with the ghost of lips whose owner has stolen far more than just jewels than night.

 

* * *

"Lance!" Pidge's voice comes, furious, the second he opens the door, and he flinches involuntarily. "What the absolute _hell_ were you thinking?" She's all of five feet tall, glasses slipping slightly down her nose, but Lance has learned the hard way not to underestimate her. He knows what she's capable of.

He holds the bag of stolen jewels up, a hopeful smile raising his lips. "I got the gems?" he offers.

She makes a frustrated noise and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Why would you give your identity to _Paladin_ of all people?"

"Because-" Lance struggles with an explanation for a moment. In truth, he's not entirely sure himself. He'd been acting on impulse--but then, what he'd told Keith wasn't a lie. He _did_ trust him. Somehow. "He won't bring me in."

She collapses in her chair and spins around. "God, Lance. He's a vigilante. Not to mention a _cop_. It's his job to do just that, and you've just made it a hundred times easier!"

Lance shakes his head stubbornly. "Keith isn't like that."

"Why, because you like him?" Pidge demands, and he feels his hands curl into fists.

"You don't get it."

"No, I don't. I don't get why you'd put yourself, and your _team,_ in danger, over some crush-"

"It's not just some crush, Pidge!" he snaps, and he can't help that his voice breaks a little as he says, "It's more than that."

She looks up at him, and her huge brown eyes soften, her tone following. "Lance. You know this isn't gonna work like you want it to. You practically come from different worlds--he stops criminals like us day and night. It's a classic star-crossed lovers story, and I don't...I don't want to see you get your heart broken by him."

The silence lingers for a moment, heavy, and then he drops the gems on the table and grabs his bag.

As he reaches the door, he echoes his words to Keith, from a moment on a rooftop that seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Maybe we are star-crossed. But I've never really believed in fate."

* * *

 

The opportunity is almost too perfect, so really, Lance shouldn’t be all that surprised when he sees Keith, calmly waiting for him with no shipment truck full of jewelry to be seen, in his scarlet cape and all of his Paladin-glory.

“You just couldn’t stay away, now could you?” Lance teases, his heart filling with the familiar buzzing warmth that always seems to follow Keith.

Then he steps closer, and the hero’s face is twisted in thoughtful anguish. “We need to talk,” he says, grave, and that’s all it takes to send Lance’s stomach plummeting.

“Talk,” he echoes carefully, bravado gone, and Keith nods.

“I can’t...we can’t keep doing this, Lance,” he begins.

Something inside of the thief twists. He hesitates for a moment, and then, “Can’t keep doing what?”

“ _This._ ” Keith makes a vague sort of gesture with his hand, his tone an odd mix of guilt and exasperation. It makes Lance’s breath hitch, makes unease settle, heavy, onto his shoulders. “We can’t keep playing this _game._ ”

“A game?” He finds his voice to be a short huff of disbelief, anger, hurt, all displayed so plainly there. _And maybe that’s his problem._ “Is that all this is to you? A stupid game?”

“You’re a _criminal,_ Lance,” Keith says harshly, but his eyes betray him in violet shades of remorse. “And I’m-I’m _supposed_ to be a hero. I can’t fall for you.”

“Because you’re _scared._ ”

“I’m _not_ .”  
  
“Yes, you are. You’re so scared of falling that you won’t even-” his voice breaks, and the tears come very quickly then, tracing his cheeks in glittering lines. “I would’ve _caught you,_ Keith. I would’ve caught you _every time_. I...I lo-”

“Don’t say it,” the hero breathes, and when he turns away, Lance feels his heart fracture in his chest. “Please, just don’t say it.”

The thief swallows hard, normally steady hands shaking as he furiously wipes the tears away from his cheeks. “You’re a coward, Keith Kogane--”

“Lance--”  
  
“And I’m sorry that I love you anyway.”

* * *

 

He doesn’t go home that day.

He doesn’t go back to his team, either--he doesn’t think he can face Pidge, the _I-told-you-so_ ’s, not right now. Not after everything.

So he regresses into what he does best.

He steals, breaks locks and plucks pretty stars from their cages and this time it’s without Pidge’s guidance and without Hunk’s steady support. It’s the way it was when he first started, just him and the jewels, free, independent, lonely.

He works his way into safes, into jewelry stores, into any place with a whisper of a diamond in its walls. He must have tripped every alarm, but there’s a violent, reckless part of him that doesn’t care.

He can’t get Keith out of his head. Keith’s voice, Keith’s violet eyes, the way his bangs fall in front of his face and Keith’s _stupid_ laugh. He can’t get him out of his head, and the adrenaline works like alcohol for him, making everything feel numb.

 _It’s not the most dangerous of coping methods,_ he thinks. At least, until the police catch up with him.

* * *

 

When Keith goes in for his shift that evening, the station is already buzzing.

“What’s going on?” he asks one of the officers, who gestures to the TV above their heads that’s playing the news station.

“ _We have reports that the jewel thief known as Starcatcher has gone on an unprecedented string of robberies. Although he is known for his stealth and secrecy, Starcatcher appears to be setting off alarms left and right. The latest: the jewel gallery of the Altea City Museum. We have been informed that police are on their way to the scene now.”_

“Shiro,” Keith finds himself saying, as though his voice has a mind of its own. “I have to go. I’m sorry, there’s something I need to do!”  
  
And then he’s running, grabbing the coat he’d just deposited on his chair and bursting out the door as he wonders how long it will take him to change costumes.

* * *

 

His run-ins with the police are almost always over quickly. All he has to do is disappear, and it’s usually so easy with Pidge in his ear.

But this time, they chase him up to the roof of the museum. Even as he jumps to the next building over, they’re still on his tail.

They haven’t fired yet, but he wonders why, wonders how long that will last.

And so he runs, he just keeps running, his feet slipping into a steady rhythm and his heartbeat slipping out of one, and his blood feels hot in his veins as he leaps and swings and _runs,_ building after building, roof after roof.

And then his foot slips.

That’s all it takes, just one little misstep and then he’s scrambling against the side of a brick building, _falling,_ his hands searching for something to hold on to and finding it, tiny, in a crevice in the stone. He clings to it; palms slick with sweat and fingers raw, he clings to it. The street is so, so unforgiving below him, dark and hard and deadly.

 _Hold on,_ he thinks, and the other part of his brain screams _stupid, stupid, stupid stupid stupidstupidstupid._ He should’ve went to his team first, should’ve been more careful, should’ve known this wouldn’t end well, should’ve, should’ve, should’ve--

Oh god, he can’t die here. Not like this, here, alone, _running. Not like this._

Lance plays it over and back in his head, again and again, _not like this,_ like somehow it’s going to keep him from falling, going to keep gravity from working on his body,

But he’s slipping. He’s slipping, and this little, tiny crevice in the stone isn’t enough to hold him. He’s slipping.

His heart seems desperate to break out of his ribcage, and then it’s like every sound seems to fade out for a moment; it’s just the blood rushing in his ears and the erratic thudding of his heart against his chest.

And he’s falling, and then everything slows down.

He’s falling, and  he has enough time to think, _this is it. This is how the tragedy ends. Just like this. Here. Alone._

He’s falling, and then--

And then,

He isn’t.

He’s falling, and then there are arms around him, there’s a flash of scarlet cape, and all the air leaves his lungs. They’re soaring for a moment, just a moment, and then his feet are on solid, solid ground, and he wants to kiss the street, onlookers be damned. But there’s someone else.

“Lance.”

He looks up, and Keith is crying. His mask is off, clutched in his hands, and he’s crying, silent, steady tears streaking down his face. “You’re so _stupid,_ ” he says, breathless. “And I’m so sorry. You were right, I was scared, I was a coward--”

“And I told you,” Lance says, his hands cupping the hero’s cheeks, brushing his tears away, “I love you anyway.”

And then suddenly Keith’s lips are on his, soft and salty with tears, gentle and desperate all at the same time. The night air turns electric, and Lance’s whole body buzzes with that same familiar warmth. He swears, in that moment, that every star seems to align.

“Star-crossed lovers, huh?” Lance mumbles softly when they finally pull apart, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

“Well, it’s like you said. ‘We’re writing the end of this story’,” Keith echoes, resting his forehead against Lance’s. “‘And I don’t believe in fate’.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3


End file.
